My sister burst into the room, eyes shining with excitement. Her team had made it to the second round of a competition they were participating in. She was breathless, laughing, jumping. In a matter of seconds, she had already left the room to break the news to our mother.

And I just sat there wondering how to tell her that this was at the best part of her life, that she needs to always cherish this little moment and make sure she has many more like these.

Just sat there wondering if there was a way to stop time; longing to stop time. For her to be this happy. To have this happy. Forever.

So I saved the lecture for another day, went up to wish her luck and said a silent prayer for her happiness.

I see her old and frail and sick. Barely able to articulate anything. Shaky. Disoriented. This is what it comes down to, after ninety years of living: being a child, but without the perks. Slowly disintegrating.

Seeing her feels like a gut punch. Every time. A gut punch of pain and guilt pangs.

I can’t imagine what must go through her mind. I can’t imagine how it feels. Or what my father feels.

God, please, please, please give her health. Please, please, please give both my parents the strength, both physical and mental, to help her as much as possible. Please, please, please.

We never do much together but the house seems empty without my sister. I’m sure she’ll have a blast. It is indeed the experience of a lifetime.

Everyone’s really glad that her trip is only for two weeks though, including traveling time. It’s hard to admit that the baby of the family is old enough to leave the nest and step out into the world by herself.

Meanwhile, I use all the technology available to me to stalk her to hide the i-miss-her and the small twinge of green. Flight live-tracking and hotel websites for the win!

Identity is an important part of life but what is it that defines and characterizes it? How do I know who I am?

These questions keeps coming up in my mind again and again.

Mostly, I come to the conclusion that I am who I choose to be. That I can be what I want to be. Anything and anyone.

And yet I keep forgetting an essential fact: from the moment of birth, nay conception, I’ve already been assigned certain roles.

Daughter. Sister. Cousin. Grandchild.

And before I will know, these will be transformed into even bigger ones – Wife. Mother. Aunt. Grandmother.

So with all these facets of self and roles to fulfill, who am I?

Am I not me and merely daughter of X, sister of Y, cousin of Z? Am I me because I am daughter of X, sister of Y, cousin of Z? Or am I me and being daughter of X, sister of Y, cousin of Z is of no consequence?

At the end of the day though, there’s no running away from consequence.

Here, it’s the fact that no matter how hard I try to look the other way, I cannot deny it. I cannot deny the truth of these roles. I cannot just get rid of blood, love or obligations. I cannot close my eyes and pretend they don’t define at least a part of me. I cannot look the other way and say that they are not a part of me…

Do I HAVE to be defined within these roles though? Doesn’t it seem a tad…unfair? But who’s to say I can’t have my own spin on them?

After all, I AM me as well. My own person. I cannot deny this truth either!

So maybe the answer doesn’t have to be one or the other. Maybe it can be an “All of the above”.

And so this is what I choose. Being me. Being my parents’ daughter. Being a sister to my siblings. Being a cousin to all my cousins. Being a grandchild to both sets of grandparents. And embracing the newer roles that might come my way, whenever that may or may not be.